


Essential as Sunlight

by Kayim



Category: Doom (2005)
Genre: Gen, Post-Movie, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 08:38:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14516586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayim/pseuds/Kayim
Summary: “Touch seems to be as essential as sunlight.” -- Diane AckermanJohn can’t stop himself from touching his sister. Not in a creepy way – at least he hopes it’s not creepy – but just to remind himself that she is there.





	Essential as Sunlight

John can’t stop himself from touching his sister. 

Not in a creepy way – at least he hopes it’s not creepy – but just to remind himself that she is there. He was never a touchy-feely person; the type who always needed to keep hold of his partner’s hand in public, or rest an arm around their shoulders. His lack of physical affection was just one of many things his ex had listed as a reason for their breakup. He never had any urge to change.

Until Olduvai happened.

Now he finds himself putting his hand on the small of Samantha’s back as he leans over her shoulder to watch the test results on her screen. He sits next to her at the table and stretches his legs out so his feet rest on the rungs of her chair. He tucks a blanket over her when she falls asleep on the couch and drops a kiss onto her forehead.

He doesn’t need to touch her to know where she is – he can smell her scent from two blocks away when the wind blows the right way – but he still prefers to touch. It’s not just his other senses that have improved; even touch is different than it was. Her hair is softer than silk and he can feel every strand as it brushes against his arm. Her heartbeat pulses through him when they sit shoulder to shoulder, and it stops him from getting lost in his own mind.

They don’t talk about what had happened, or who they’d lost, but when they made it home, they refused to be split up. They’d lost too many people and too many years.

He does worry sometimes that he’s clinging to her too much, fearing that she’ll find him cloying and leave. But then she turns to him and brushes invisible dirt from his shirt, her fingertips lingering a moment too long, or she curls on the couch with her toes digging into his thigh, and he stops worrying.

There’s nothing wrong. Not anymore.


End file.
